


Coffee Scented Kisses

by the_charm_caster



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Flirting, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Romance, Sexual Tension, SuperBat Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-18 12:29:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13100133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_charm_caster/pseuds/the_charm_caster
Summary: Or five times it was pure coffee and one time it was pure love. Written for the lovely anyberry for the Superbat Secret Santa 2017.





	1. Americano

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make it a coffee shop AU one-shot, I promise I did, but it kind of got away. Merry Christmas, anyberry. I hope I keep up to your expectations, and I hope this Christmas and New Year you find all the love and warmth in the world.  
> Note: There are other pairings in this fic, but I haven't tagged them, simply for the element of surprise.

_“I can’t espresso how much you bean to me_ ”, the chalkboard declared cheerily at the entrance of HuggaMug Café. Bruce couldn’t decide whether to roll his eyes harder at the slogan or the name of the café itself.

Just like everything else in Metropolis, it was overly bright outside, as well as _inside_ the coffee shop. He took off his dark jacket to try and blend in with the warm colors. This café had a modern rustic aesthetic, with wooden floorboards, and fresh lavenders in ceramic pots, and faerie lights strung at the large, clear windows. Bruce could almost imagine a golden retriever curled up near the wooden ladder and watering can décor.

He wasn’t much of a coffee person; growing up with a British butler, and training at a secret Asian society of ninjas, Bruce preferred tea. But this “Superman” was becoming more and more of a reality, and he only ever communicated with the reporters of the Daily Planet, who frequented this particular café. Bruce was on the lookout for a _Lois Lane, Investigative Reporter_ , or _Jimmy Olsen, Photojournalist_. He hid behind a newspaper, sipping his Americano without particularly tasting anything, analysing all the other coffee patrons around him.

Most of the Metropolitans were energetic, morning people who definitely didn’t need coffee to wake up properly the way Gothamites did. Maybe they were in it for the sugar rush?

“One espresso con panna, two café au lait, one caramel macchiato, two cappuccinos and one chai tea latte,” a deep set voice finished at the counter. Woah, that order was definitely something. Bruce turned to notice the owner of the voice for the first time. “You know what to do with the non-fat milk and the whipped cream, right Jenny?” The broad shouldered man asked the barista.

“Sure do, Clark,” Jenny, the barista, smiled, and started working the long list.

Bruce ransacked his mind to see if knew the man with the huge glasses. Clark Kent? One of interns, wasn’t he? Oh, had the hotshot journalists sent this rookie on a coffee run today? No problem, Bruce could make do with this man if he couldn’t reach the big guns.

Folding his sleeves up to his elbows, he waited as Jenny the Barista ticked off all the items on Kent’s order. Then, picking up his jacket, he placed himself directly behind Kent. Very nonchalantly, of course.

“Thanks, Jen!” Kent said cheerily, and turned around, balancing his order. According to Batman’s calculations, Kent should’ve crashed with Bruce, spilling at least two drinks on a very expensive Armani shirt that cost way too much for an intern to even imagine. Bruce would’ve reached out and caught a third drink, almost clumsily, and depending on Kent’s reaction, started the conversation with either anger, or exasperation.

However, none of that happened. Kent did turn around and crash into Bruce, eyes widening. But with a balancing act that almost belonged in the circus, caught the first two drinks. They reached for the third drink together, and Bruce felt his fingers brush with Kent’s around the paper cup. _Then_ , though, Kent blushed and dropped the drink, the strong smell of caramel macchiato colouring the coffee shop in warm lights.

Now, this was not some romedy chick-flick, but for a second Bruce was sure that Kent belonged in this aesthetic; the fragrance of caramel macchiato in the air, the sounds of footsteps echoing off the wooden floors,  the blur of warm faerie lights in the background, and a small blush on his face.

“Oh, no!” Bruce Wayne exclaimed dramatically while Kent started at him, dumbfounded. “I apologise. Let me buy you that.”

Later that day, Bruce bought the Daily Planet. Of course, he would find out way, _way_ later that this disposable intern was indeed the very alien he was looking for.


	2. Vanilla Frappuccino

Stepping into Gotham was a very bad idea, Clark knew this. But Bruce wouldn’t know. Besides, he wasn’t coming as Superman. He was going there as a journalist, low-key and secretly. One clandestine meeting with his informant and he would quickly leave. And Bruce wouldn’t even know.

Gotham welcomed him with a smoggy drizzle, as if trying to mask his presence with the gloomy weather. Clark needed to stop worrying. It was a small coffee shop-slash-bar in mid-town Gotham. Bruce _wouldn’t_ know. The Bat didn’t have his eyes (sonar detection?) everywhere.

It was a little warmer inside the coffee shop, but Clark still felt cold. Maybe not because of the temperature, but the chilling aura that hovered over all the streets of Gotham and her gothic architecture. No matter what time of the day it was anywhere else in the world, it was always dusky in Gotham. Placing his order to the old lady at the counter (he tried to smile at her, she just gave a blank look in return), he settled in an empty booth in the almost empty coffee-shop.

He was going over his notes when a set of hands angrily placed his frappuccino in front of him. Very loudly. The drink splashed a little around the edges of the cup. Now, Clark was busy reading his notes, but he was sure that out of the corner of his eyes, the arms of this other barista looked familiar. Also, that barista, even though Clark caught only his back, looked more like a biker than a barista.

Woah, no wonder Bruce was so paranoid all the time! There was something wrong in the air of this city. He watched his server walk to the back room. Something about his frame was eerily familiar. Not his gait, not his fragrance, but something atomic that Clark couldn’t figure out.

Clark nervously sipped his drink, mentally urging his informant to arrive quickly. The older lady at counter gave him another blank look.

It was almost fifteen minutes later, when Clark had forgotten about the angry barista and was in deep conversation with his mole, that he heard the back room door open again. Almost randomly, his eyes found the biker-slash-barista who had gone out to throw the trash. Clark spewed his coffee everywhere.

He was coughing, and he was choking, and his heart was beating out of control. Because of all the people in the world, his angry barista was none other than Bruce Wayne, looking at him sceptically. Angrily.

Giving Bruce his best, pearly white smile, Clark turned to focus on his conversation partner and do his best to ignore the brooding man who was glaring at him. He wasn’t very successful though. For the next few minutes, he couldn’t help but sneak glances at the Bat, whose eyes screamed _murder_ every time they met with Clark’s. What in the _world_ was Bruce doing in this hell hole of a coffee shop? No, Clark didn’t need to know. He simply needed to get out of here and avoid the Bat. Preferably, for the rest of his life. A very short life, if one were to consider the homicidal determination in Bruce’s eyes.

After his meeting was over, Clark decided to super-speed away from Gotham. Because he wanted to live, of course. As he hurried towards the entrance, an arm blocked his way. Placing his palm on the wall right next to Clark’s face, Bruce leaned in. Very close. Clark backed against the wall, and swallowed. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw that the lady at the counter was no longer there. Great, no witnesses to murder.

“Kent,” Bruce’s voice was rough. Like the rest of his look. Weathered leather jacket, some of his scars and bruises showing, face shadowed by stubble, and just a subtle amount of kohl that made his dark eyes glitter. And not to mention his dishevelled hair tied back in a small ponytail that may or may not be arousing Clark.

“Clark Kent,” Clark said nervously, telling the Bat that he was here as a reporter and not Superman. Bruce tilted his head, one hand in pocket, the personification of the bad boy look. His name tag read ‘Jake’ in an almost ineligible handwriting. Clark’s heart pounded wildly, but he wasn’t sure whether it was because he was scared for his life, or because this dirty biker persona was doing dirty things to his body.

“What’s a nice biker like you doing in a place like this?” Clark blurted out before he could stop himself. Wait, did he actually say that?

Bruce’s eyebrows shot up like he couldn’t believe Clark had the audacity to speak. “Only you would order a vanilla frappuccino in a place like this, you know that?” Bruce said exasperatedly, after a while. Then, he leaned further in, lips gently brushing against Clark’s neck.

“This coffeeshop is a hub of informants and rats. I drop by now and then to stay updated on the underworld,” Bruce whispered. His lips moved up to Clark’s ear. “The Black Pegasus will reach Metropolis Docks by 2300 on Friday.” Clark felt Bruce close his teeth around his earlobe, and he almost screamed when Bruce bit, not very gently.

“Now,” Bruce said smugly, leaning back. With their faces inches apart, Clark was sure Bruce would kiss him. Bruce looked down to his lips, and then back into his eyes again. “Get out of Gotham,” the Bat growled, running out of patience.

Clark nodded, dumbfounded, and scurried to get away. Minutes later, miles up in the stratosphere, Clark willed his heart rate to calm down. When he could breathe again, he realized that Bruce had not only given him the name of the ship he was looking for, but also her arrival time in Metropolis. And also, a permanent blush, if that was a thing.


	3. Chai

Bruce stepped into the small tea stall at the edge of the road, running his fingers through his hair to get the rain water out. It wasn’t a permanent stall really, just some tin sheets stacked under waterproof sheets to keep the rain out. But Bruce could smell the hot tea and handmade snacks, and after trekking for so long, it made his stomach rumble. Also, as long as he could stay a little dry, he didn’t mind wooden benches and scaffoldings supported by thick bamboo canes.

The monsoons weren’t the best time to visit north east India, but if the Golden Lotus was spotted in one of the villages here, Bruce couldn’t let Ra’s get his hands on something so powerful. The bench creaked as he sat down, taking off his drenched over shirt. A young girl peeked from behind the counter, which was just an assortment of plastic and glass jars arranged on a wooden desk.

Bruce smiled softly. “The tea smells delicious!” he said in flawless Hindi. “Did you make it?”

The girl nodded, smiling shyly.

“May I have some of that?” Bruce asked.

She nodded, running to the next room to probably inform her mother or father about the customer. Poverty was still one of the major plagues that ailed some parts of the world, and with such scattered population on the foothills, a rainy day often meant the children, especially the girls, would stay back home and help their parents with their small time businesses. Bruce pulled out a rag from his backpack, towelling his hair.

“Abhi aya!” An deeply accented voice called from the back room. _Coming!_

Bruce’s heart stopped.

Bruce was wearing dark lenses that covered his grey eyes, so as to blend in with the rest of the population. His dark hair, stubble and shabby clothes really helped his disguise. Clark on the other hand glowed, his blue eyes and smooth skin lighting up the dark stall like the sun this village probably hadn’t seen for two weeks.

Clark, with his printed apron, and his sleeves folded up to his elbows, and his accented Hindi informing that the tea was almost ready and he could serve some delicious _pakore_ with green _chutney_ too –they were his speciality- stopped short when he saw Bruce.

Clark blinked, opened his mouth, and then closed it. Surprisingly, Bruce was the first one to recover. Hah! Take that, _super speed._

“Hi,” Bruce said, almost sheepishly. “I’ll have that _pakore._ ”

“Right,” Clark nodded, and then burst into the brightest smile Bruce had ever seen. For a second, he was tempted to check whether it had stopped raining outside and it was actually the sun warming his insides. It wasn’t- the rain pattered incessantly against the waterproof-sheet-curtains.

The rainwater leaked from the roof from at least three places, and various utensils and jugs were placed strategically to collect the water. Bruce shifted near the window, eyes on the forest. Clouds rolled in like fog, giving everything a faerie tale feel.

“You know, people always mistake the clouds for fog,” Bruce informed Clark, who was settling next to him on the wooden bench, two small earthen cups of tea, and a plate of fried snacks and coriander _chutney_ between them. No tables needed.

“I know,” Clark said in English. Bruce sighed softly, and turned to look at him. Clark was looking at him…almost as if Bruce put the cotton candy clouds on the hills outside. Bruce felt a tingling sensation in his toes.

“Ra’s Al Ghul,” Bruce told him before he could ask. “You?”

“I don’t know if you were following the news on this side of the world, but there was a major earthquake here in 2011,” Clark told him.

Bruce nodded, “6.9 on the Richter scale, wasn’t it?”

Clark paused, and then continued. “Yes.”

“But you weren’t-“ Bruce stopped, unsure.

“-Superman, back then, yeah,” Clark finished for him. “I was… on this self-discovering journey, before I took on my uniform, before everything; Myanmar, Bhutan, India… I was on this side of the world when the earthquake hit. I couldn’t –save everyone,” he said, painfully. “Tara’s father was one of them,” he nodded where the young girl Bruce had met was previously standing. “I know I… can’t bring him back, but her mother, Gauri, is a nice person, and I couldn’t just. Leave them like this.”

 Bruce sipped some tea to give Clark his time.

“So I come back once a year on the anniversary and help out where I can. Rebuilding, communications, and sometimes, this tea stall. It isn’t much of an income, but it was her husband’s, and Gauri won’t abandon this place, no matter how many times I offer to relocate her family to the nearest town,” Clark smiled fondly, and Bruce found himself smiling, even though he had never met the stubborn woman. Clark shrugged, ending the painful history lesson.

“You should try the _pakora_ , Bruce, while it is hot,” Clark said, warmly. Bruce nodded; steaming tea, spicy _pakora_ and green _chutney_ were a local favourite, Bruce knew that. He would never admit it out loud, but he enjoyed the roadside fried snacks _way_ more than brunch at an elite five star. Dick should never find that out. Ever.

“Don’t tell Alfred, but Tara’s tea tastes better than his,” Bruce said with a smile…and noticed that he wasn’t faking the smile …Okay. Ignoring the unfamiliar feeling, he popped a ball of fried delicacy in his mouth.

“Mm, that’s _good_ ,” he said, mouth full of _pakora._ Clark’s face lit up with pride, and huh, Bruce really hadn’t noticed the way Clark was looking at him expectantly. “It’s great!” he said again, just to make Clark smile some more.

“Do you want help with the _chutney_ , though?” Clark suddenly asked, the laughter gone from his eyes.

“Wait. You mean-?” Bruce asked, looking down at the small bowl and then back into Clark’s eyes again. Superman, grave serious, nodded. Hypnotised by the sapphire blue, Bruce nodded back. He wasn’t sure whose heart was beating louder.

Slowly, _very_ slowly, Clark leaned in, dipping two of fingers in the condiment, and lifted them to Bruce’s lips. Without breaking eye contact, Bruce licked it off, and then sucked his fingers in, swallowing molten stars. His body was on fire, and the look in Clark’s eyes sent sparks straight to his groin.

Clark frowned, and made a noise at the back of his throat, almost as if he was in pain. He licked his lips, and Bruce wanted to bite them- so he gently bit his fingers instead. Clark blushed almost red. He opened his mouth, dazed, but before he could say anything, he was interrupted by shrill laughter.

A young boy of about six years came running in, with a plastic bag over his head. He was drenched from head to toe. Clark leapt back to his seat.

“Jai!” Clark exclaimed. “What is this?” he asked in broken Hindi.

Jai giggled and told him that his friends were waiting outside for Clark.

“Waiting for what?” Clark asked.

“Waiting for you to finish your tea, and join them,” Bruce answered in Hindi. “Isn’t that so?” he asked the young boy, who nodded, excitedly.

“C’mon!” Jai insisted impatiently while Clark chugged his now cold tea. Giving up, the young boy handed Clark a plastic bag hat and grabbed onto his apron, tugging him. Clark got up, laughing, and the last moment, turned to Bruce and took his hand.

“Bruce!” was all the warning Clark gave, and pulled Bruce outside for an impromptu rain dance. The contact was enough to warm Bruce up for the rest of his journey.

Inside, Gauri smiled softly and cleared the utensils, the laughter of young boys, and men, like music to her weary ears.


	4. Café Allongé

“I can’t believe you talked me into this!” Clark whispered to Diana sitting in the booth next to him.

“Enjoy the coffee,” Diana smiled as she kissed a blushing girl on the cheek. “Thank you for coming.”

The most famous coffee shops in Paris had banded together to host a “Coffee and Kisses” charity event to support the victims of the latest terror attack. The Flash had, of course, signed the League up for the _Kisses_ part. _Of course_. When no one agreed, Diana took pity on the pouting Barry and signed her name. And then she proceeded to “convince” Clark to join her. It involved the lasso of truth and some embarrassing stories Clark didn’t want anyone to find out, but Wonder Woman had defeated Superman, just like that. Batman had teleported back to Gotham before she could lay her claws on him.

“Relax, Big Blue,” Flash said from the booth on the other side, “this is all for a good cause. I know you would- ugh,” he groaned as his phone chimed again.

“Hal?” Clark asked, pecking a woman in her late thirties lightly on the cheek. Clark wasn’t sure, but the woman might’ve had a heart attack after that. She almost spilt her coffee on him. “Thank you for showing up.”

“S-Superman,” she whispered and walked away with shaking legs.

“Yea,” Flash answered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him today. Keeps updating me about the smallest disasters all over the world. Nothing that rest of the league can’t handle, you know?” He paused as a nervous young boy cradling a Flash action figure walked in front of him. “Hello,” he gave him his brightest smile.

Diana gave Clark a knowing smile. Did Barry _really_ not understand? She shyly sneaked a glance at the blond man who sat at the far corner of the café. She winked at a fuming Steve Trevor, and then poked her tongue out when the officer glared at her.

 _Love? No, jealousy is in the air_ , Clark thought, watching the interaction with a fond smile. He wondered how he’d have acted if it were Batman in the booth next to him, kissing pretty brunettes and handsome young men. No. He shouldn’t. He should stop thinking about Bruce. About what they- those lingering looks. _No._ That time in Gotham, “Jake” was only standing so close because that’s what “bad boys” do. Bruce was staying in character. And that incident in India. It was just a onetime event, it was- Bruce wasn’t. He wouldn’t like-

“I’d like three café allongé, s’il vous plait,” Bruce Wayne ordered at the counter, smiling coyly at the blushing barista. Wait, _what_?

He walked up to Diana, taking her hand and kissing it softly. Of course, at the same time, he sneaked a glance at Clark, who had lost all coherent speech. What. Was. Happening?

“Wonder Woman,” he smiled. “Honoured to meet you.”

“Mr Wayne,” Diana smiled knowingly. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re doing this intentionally, aren’t you, Bruce?” She asked him as she kissed his cheek. Bruce laughed softly, and Clark could see steam blowing out of Steve’s ears. Of course, only Diana and Clark knew about Bruce’s identity, so to Steve, this was just a billionaire brat getting kissed by _his_ Diana. And he couldn’t do anything about it.

Bruce stood back, eyes on Clark, and Clark’s heart flipped inside his ribcage. Clark felt his ears heat up as Bruce approached him. And then, smirking, Bruce walked past him and to Flash’s booth. It was like a physical blow to Clark. Again, what was happening?

“I’ve always wanted to meet you, Mr Flash,” Bruce said excitedly. “Big fan!”

“Oh?” Barry said, surprised. Bruce Wayne was no less than a celebrity, and all Barry had been kissing from the morning were young kids and teenage boys who really wanted him to sign autographs. “Um, there is no Mister. I mean. It’s the Flash. Please call me Barr- I mean Flash.”

“Okay, _Barr-I-mean-the-Flash,_ ” Bruce laughed again, enjoying Barry’s nervousness. “I did buy more than one coffee, so may I?” He leaned in, both palms on the desk.

Barry stood up, shrugging his shoulders. “Why not?”

As soon as Barry kissed him though, Clark received a text from Hal screaming “WHAT AM I SEEING ON FACEBOOK??!1 Why is BarrY KISSING THATWAYNE GUY?!!11?”

Clark looked around to see several people holding up their phones, including Diana.

”What are you doing?” he asked.

“Live-streaming, of course,” Diana laughed. “This is the best view.”

Clark wanted to ask “That Wayne Guy” the same question as Hal, but he texted ‘relax, it’s just a kiss on the cheek’ to Hal, and put his phone away when Hal instantly replied with a ‘RELAX?? WHAT DO YOU MEAN RELAX!’

When Clark up though, Bruce was standing right in front of him, and Superman might’ve yelped a little.

“Superman,” Bruce smiled, but it was a predator’s smile, and Clark knew he was done for.

“M-Mr. Wayne,” Clark Kent fumbled, but he quickly regained his composure. “I didn’t know you’re in Paris?”

“Oh, I was in Milan, for the Fashion Week,” Bruce said nonchalantly. “But then I heard about this drive, and I just _had_ to come over.” _There_. There was that look again, Bruce’s eyes glittering dangerously, and Clark found his insides melting.

“May I have my kiss?” Bruce asked, leaning close, Prince Charming style. He smelt wonderful, and his eyes were arsenic laced champagne, and suddenly, Clark was in love with the city around him; with the cobblestone pavements, and with the shimmering Eiffel Tower, and with the peach coloured roses on the balconies, and with whatever faerie tale magic that bought Bruce to his kissing booth.

Craning his neck from the ribboned chair he sat on, Clark kissed him. On the lips.

The world immediately drowned in a sea of rose wine, as if Clark was looking at it through coloured glass.

“You taste like coffee,” Bruce whispered, shocked. It was a short, chaste kiss, and it wasn’t enough.

The kiss made it to Vogue’s ‘ _Top 10 kisses of the year’_ , though.


	5. Irish Coffee

Clark was getting fidgety. He’d thought…at least this time he’d find Bruce. But it was in vain, _all_ in vain. The Bat was stubborn, and _damnit_ , he’d told Bruce not to use the heartbeat dampner, but he couldn’t hear Bruce’s heartbeat anywhere in the world. He knew Batman wasn’t on any off-world missions. He stretched his legs in the non-existent leg space that the airlines provided, and banged his head on the screen in front of him. Gently, of course.

After the kiss in Paris, he had absolutely _zero_ contact with Bruce. The Gothamite had taken a moment to regain his composure, and then strutted off smugly, leaving Superman to deal with the rest of the charity drive. He did _not_ want to recall Diana’s reactions. No, thank you.

After that, two off world missions, an attempted bank theft by Toyman, the devastating loss of the Metropolis Meteors against the Star City Rockets - the distractions kept piling on and on, both for Clark Kent as well as Superman. Batman hadn’t been on the Watch Tower for a while now. So Clark couldn’t confront him there either. And of course, _of course_ , Bruce wasn’t answering his calls or texts.

The baby on the seat behind him wailed. _Me too_ , Clark wanted to say. _Me too._

He had been following the _‘Misadventures of Bruce Wayne’_ in the newspapers and e-zines though: Bruce had thrown a lavish party at his yatch off the coast of Miami; Bruce had been spotted in one of the elite strip clubs in Los Angeles; he had been seen flirting with a princess from UAE. And each time Clark thought of flying to Bruce- to just push him against the wall and kiss him, kryptonite batarangs be damned- he’d lose courage. What if- what if it was all pretence? What if, Bruce didn’t mean it? Was kissing Superman just another publicity stunt? At least Clark could pretend it was real. If Bruce denied it though, if Bruce said it out loud, it would all fall apart, like a house of cards. Clark wasn’t sure he could take it. He really, _really_ wanted Bruce.

If only he could find him, though. The baby slowly fell asleep, and Clark found himself pouting in the dark, cramped space. The overweight man next to him snored lightly. He’d been sent to cover the battle between the League and Braniac’s minions; even though he could give a first-hand account of what had happened. He hated traveling in airplanes, but he needed to redeem at least some of his travel vouchers before anyone started suspecting his travel speed. _Faster than a speeding bullet,_ hadn’t the Planet declared that proudly? Clark smiled to himself, wrapping the stupid blanket tighter around himself.

He couldn’t stop fidgeting; he needed to move. Why did he even choose the red light back to Metropolis? At least in daytime he’d have people to interact with. To keep his mind off the stupid Bat who currently had Clark’s heart between in his coffee dipped wings. Where the hell was Bruce? Amsterdam? Sydney? Somewhere in the Amazon forest? How long would he avoid Superman?

Clark was pouting a little harder when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. The flight attendant turned on his overhead light, and he blinked owlishly in the blinding light.

“Mr Kent?” she whispered.

“Uh?” Was all Clark managed.

“You’ve been upgraded to first class,” she smiled, and handed Clark a folded tissue. She was strutting away before Clark could comprehend what she had just said.

Wait. What?

Rubbing his eyes, he unfolded the tissue.

_‘Sit still, Clark. You’ll break the plane.’_

Clark’s heart leapt. He recognised the cursive- hell, he recognised the bat sarcasm.

Bruce.

Wait. _Bruce_? Clark re-read the note, the ink gently curling into his name. He stood up, cradling the blanket, and walked right into the seat in front of him. Luckily, nothing broke, thank you Bruce.

Warm light glowed through the curtains separating first class and economy. Clark stepped through, still unsure.

Most of the VIPs in first class were sleeping soundly, feet clad in the fluffy slippers Clark sometimes wished they had in Economy as well. All but one overhead light were turned off, and Bruce truly _glowed_ in the warm light, liquor sloshing carelessly in the plastic glass in his hand. He had his back towards Clark, only the top of his head visible, but the way an air hostess was bent down, flirting, giggling, maybe just a few extra buttons of her uniform unbuttoned, Clark knew it was Bruce. _What was Bruce doing here?_ He walked to him, mesmerized by the way Bruce’s hair shone like gilded silk threads.

The woman saw him and straightened, smile slowly fading away. Erm, should he _not_ approach Bruce? Was he interrupting? But it was a little too late; he saw Bruce notice him with a side glance.

“Excuse me, Rebecca.” To Clark’s super senses, Bruce’s deep voice reverberated in the silence. “Could you get me something to drink? Coffee, Irish maybe?” Rebecca nodded, stepping away. Clark filled the empty spot, nervous.

“Hi?” He offered a small smile.

Bruce tilted his head back, heavily lidded eyes regarding the blushing Clark. His eyes were dark, _dark,_ like the late night sky outside. His lips quirked up on the left, and he waved his free hand casually, offering Clark the window seat. It was the BatSmirkTM, the one Bruce usually gave before annihilating the criminals of Gotham. Clark swallowed.

Even though these seats were really spacious, Clark was sure he was completely red by the time he took his seat. Bruce’s face had been so close-!

“You need to stop thinking so much,” Bruce whispered, handing Clark his half empty glass. Clark wasn’t sure what to do with it- alcohol didn’t affect him, and Bruce knew that. “I could hear your thoughts from all the way over here.” Bruce leaned in, raising an arm to switch off the overhead light. No, _no._ Bruce couldn’t –shouldn’t be able to hear his thoughts, being the main subject of aforementioned thoughts.

“What-?” was all the Clark could get out when he felt Bruce’s lips breaths away from his.

“I want my glass back in one piece,” Bruce whispered in the darkness, his request half a demand, half a tease. Oh, that’s why he handed it to Clark, so that Clark could control-

He bit Clark’s lower lip, gently tugging, not quite kissing him. Clark’s eyes fluttered close, and he struggled to keep his grip on the glass loose. He found himself leaning forward, following Bruce’s lips. He felt Bruce smiling against his lips. In the starlight, Bruce’s eyes glittered dangerously.

He licked Clark’s lips, and then pulled away again, teasing. Clark bit back a moan, and he was sure the Bat took it as a challenge- within the next few moments, he found Bruce kissing him, just below his jawline, one hand in his hair, and the other massaging his crotch. His own hands trembled around the glass, and he found himself getting hard, Oh _Rao,_ right in the middle of all these people! Bruce’s  tongue traced poetry on his skin, and it felt good, the warm hand on his dick, rubbing oh so slowly, it felt really _good._

And that’s when Bruce pulled away, leaving him breathless, even though Bruce hadn’t kissed him, not really. Clark almost whined. _Almost,_ because that’s when the overhead lights turned on, and Rebecca was standing there with a cup of coffee, blushing furiously.

“M-Mr Wayne,” she stammered, placing the cup on the tray Bruce had unfolded. She looked at Clark with a mixture of lust and envy, and quickly retreated back. Clark was sure he couldn’t blush any harder, while Bruce casually sat beside him, sipping his coffee nonchalantly.

He turned to Bruce, opening his mouth to ask one of the dozen questions swarming in his mind, when suddenly, Bruce was kissing him. No, not kissing him exactly. Bruce placed his lips on his, and passed a small sip of coffee, except it wasn’t just sweet coffee, the way Clark liked. It was rich, creamy, and had the bitter taste of whiskey at its core, and Bruce’s tongue followed right after, doing dirty things to him. Ah, it tasted like- what a clichéd thing to say- but the coffee tasted just like Bruce. And then Clark was kissing him, properly kissing him, placing the stupid plastic glass on the stupid tray table, curling his fist into Bruce’s crisp shirt, leaning in for better access.

“Better than the vanilla Frappuccino, isn’t it?” Bruce asked playfully when they pulled back.

“Shut up,” Clark half-whispered, half-growled, reaching up to turn off the overhead lights once again.


	6. Iced Coffee with Whipped Cream

“Have you seen Hal, Big Blue?” Flash asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“H-hey, Barry! I haven’t, not really,” Superman stammered, sitting up really straighter than necessary. His voice was a few octaves higher than usual.

“Oh,” the Scarlet Speedster exhaled, disappointed. He turned to leave and Clark relaxed, but then turned back again. Clark straightened up again, going still behind his desk.

“Maybe Bats knows where he is. I saw him scolding Hal a few hours ago. Have you seen our serial brooder?” Barry asked him.

Clark’s eyes widened, and then he looked down. Bruce smirked from between his legs, lips kissing the tip of Clark’s hard length. Bruce tilted his head, a mischievous smile on his face, daring Clark to tell the truth.

“No, sorry,” Clark lied, gritting his teeth. Bruce wondered if Clark was thanking one of his gods about  Barry not having X-ray vision like him. .

“Oh.” Barry sounded disappointed again, but instead of leaving, Bruce heard his footsteps approaching Clark’s desk. “The perks of not having an office on the Watchtower, isn’t it? We can’t bug him without stepping into Gotham, and then he has probable cause to stick a few batarangs in our hearts.”

Bruce licked a long, wet line across Clark’s entire length to show that he agreed, a hundred per cent.

Clark laughed nervously.

“Superman, are you okay?” Barry asked, voice full of concern. “You look a little red, and sweaty.”

Oh? Bruce took the head of his dick into his mouth, tongue massaging the wet tip, gloved fingers pumping the rest of the length.

“Yes, _yes!_ ” Clark moaned, and then cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m okay. It’s the flu, I think.”

“The flu?” Barry asked, so very close to where Bruce was crouched under the metal desk. “I didn’t know you could catch the flu.”

“Me neither,” Bruce whispered, very lightly. He wasn’t sure Clark’s superhearing had caught it. But then Clark pushed his chair closer and he threaded one of his hands into Bruce’s hair, pulling him down.

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” Clark said, voice trembling when Bruce took him in his mouth again. “Just need to finish reviewing these renovation documents, and I can head back home,” he said in broken sentences.

“Alright, you take care, boy scout,” Flash said, turning away. “And stop having so many iced coffees from the canteen when you have a cold,” he said, leaving the room.

Hmm. Bruce had an idea.

Clark pushed his chair back just in time to see Bruce smear whipped cream from the coffee cup onto his hard length.

“What? When did you get that cup from the table?” Clark asked, voice straining. Woah, he really was red and sweaty.

Instead of answering though, Bruce licked the cream off in one straight line. Oh good Lord, the chances of Bruce dying because of Clark and his sugary drinks were higher than that of Penguin and his automated army.

“Bruce,” Clark whispered urgently, both of his hands curling in Bruce’s hair, thighs trembling a little.

“Hey, Superman?” Hal’s voice drifted in as the door to Clark’s office on the Watchtower opened once again. Green Lantern walked in, casually. “Have you seen Barry?”

Superman dented his desk, metal crunching like paper between his fingers.

 _That’s customised._ Bruce thought. But he could bill Superman later. Right now, he had something a little more pressing. He took Clark’s entire length in his mouth again, and sucked. Hard.

 

This tasted better than coffee anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays, everyone!


End file.
